Fringe: Drama to get your teeth into

The Critics: EDINBURGH FESTIVAL

The middle of the Festival's third week is the moment at which the surfeit of spectating can induce a rush of cognitive queasiness. It's also the point at which nervy publicists pitch their hardest, desperate to persuade the potential showgoer to accept the thespian equivalent of a waffer-theen mint. But don't get dispirited: break through the post- honeymoon, pre-firework pain barrier, and you'll find the Fringe rewarding your efforts with plenty of smart, strong work.

For instance, 1995 Fringe First winners Rubber Ear are back in town, and their new play, Kamaki (Gilded Balloon), will brighten the most drizzly afternoon. The company gets its name from the Glaswegian slang for a knock- down, and its founder, Kathleen Ruddy, has been on the receiving end of many. But despite the fact that some of the company's cash went missing, its publicity print was accidentally sent to Kathmandu, and Ruddy herself was nearly electrocuted, the show is a rip-roaringly smutty delight. Set in the summer of 1978, it details the polyestered Precious Moments shared by a pair of Glasgow women who fly to Cyprus in search of ouzo, sex and chips. As the characters of the play concede, it's all very Carry On Up the Acropolis, but this is farce with a vein of vernacular realism unmined by Talbot Rothwell.

The somewhat misnomered Jimeoin and Bob's Cooking Show (Fringe Club) doesn't offer much in the way of recipes, but it does provide a frenetic barrage of ingenious sight gags. In Australia, the show is an institution to rival Oz TV chefs Hudson & Halls, and this Anglicised version boasts the deliciously peculiar comedy of blindfolded biscuit-identification, popcorn tennis, and two tomato-ketchup bottles re-enacting The Piano.

However, if your mouth is watering, but you can't face another deep-fried Mars bar with salt'n'sauce, you could take advantage of a number of shows attempting to satisfy the desires of the stomach as well as the eye and ear. During Servant of Two Masters (Moray House), the Give Your Dog a Bone commedia troupe ply their audience with alcohol and are brazen enough to slip a half-bottle of Famous Grouse into their press packs. (I'll drink to that.) Elsewhere, three morning shows aim to keep hunger locked up till lunchtime: Shakespeare For Breakfast (C Theatre) is now a Fringe fixture and this year's bardolatry is of an exceptional standard. A likeable cast dish out literate fun to a house that's so packed there's not elbow room enough to spread jam on your croissant. Meanwhile, Continental Brechtfest's Paper Cuts: A Play on Words (Gilded Balloon) is a spirited serving of buns and puns, but has nothing to do with Brecht. Focusing on a marriage troubled by one partner's addiction to glossy magazines, it's rather too dippy for my taste, and those expecting a thigh-slapping Weimar Republic knees-up will feel distinctly alienated.

At the Famous Grouse House, Raymond Ross's Burns For Breakfast bribes with haggis and clapshot in a polystyrene burger box, but the show doesn't really need to resort to such gimmickry: the audience soon warms to Stewart Ennis's appealingly filthy incarnation of the poet, who bibs his sponsors' product-placed whisky and even shares it with the audience: "Bet you thought it was cold tea!" This is a Rab railing against his 20th-century marketability, taking issue with the souvenir tea towels bearing his face and gleefully announcing his intention to apply for a lottery grant to finance his own Tarantino-directed biopic. (Reservoir Twa Dogs, what else?) He charms the pants off his audience and then removes his own for good measure. A winningly rude way to start the day.

Edible incentive (in the form of a free Tunnock's caramel wafer) may help you negotiate the issues of Christian Darkin's new play, Smothered in Chocolate (Gilded Balloon). It begins with some irksome bickering, but soon gets organised into a persuasively quirky exploration of the interconnections of ambition, satisfaction and appetite. The central dilemma: should one sprawl on the sofa with a box of Touch of Class soft-centres, or concentrate on step- aerobics? I'll confess to downing a Double Decker moments after leaving the venue.

But of all the culinary theatre on offer, it's only Rough Magic's The Last Supper of Dr Faustus (Garage Theatre) that manages to integrate food consumption into any kind of dramatic framework. Here, Anita Sullivan rewrites Marlowe with admirable disrespect, casting her audience as guests of honour at some kinky Wittenberg bunfight. At the head of the table sits Faustus (Adam Speers, a red-eyed dead-ringer for Klaus Kinski's Nosferatu), enjoying a demonic cabaret presentation of his biography. An acrobatic cast amplify the circus-ring viciousness of Marlowe's drama, and the Dark Lord Saatchi himself couldn't have made them more convincingly Satanic. What's more, the three- course vegetarian meal (which includes Sybarite's Ruin, Langues Voluptueuses and a Salad of Earthly Delights) is devilishly good and more than justifies the ticket price. Total theatre from soup to nuts.

So, if you're feeling foot-sore and jaded, here's my prescription: breakfast with Burns, supper with Satan and lunch where the leafleteers can't get you. Kathmandu, perhaps.

Fringe ticketline: 0131 226 5138.